Kaela
by Amairys
Summary: Heroes can come from the unlikeliest places... Meet Kaela, a rider, and her dragon, Sunwing. One hero is all it takes to change the fate of Alagaesia. Murtagh/OC
1. Prelude to Kaela

Once, not so long ago and not so far away, there was a beautiful princess. She lived in a beautiful castle and dressed in beautiful dresses and ate beautiful food prepared by a beautiful celebrity chef. She married a handsome prince named Edward and they lived happily ever after.

Her name was Princess Marie Suzette. Guess what?

She was also two dimensional and lived in the flat pages of a storybook.

This story isn't about Princess Marie Suzette and her obnoxiously romantic and handsome boyfriend.

This story is about a very real young woman named Kaela, who fought to free her country from the tyranny of an evil king.

This story is about hope, and despair, and hate, and friendship.

It is also about love, the forbidden love of two who were worlds apart. It is their story, and the story of how they met and were separated, and reunited, and how their journey finally ended.

It is a story of betrayal. Betrayal of lovers, of friends, of allies.

It is a tale of adventure. It is a race to the finish that may only have one victor – and the loser shall die.

It is a story where lovers must face each other on a battlefield, and must strike one another down by no choice of their own.

It is a tale of many people.

Of a Rider named Murtagh, who just then threw a pen against the wall of his room, watching it break and throw tiny droplets of ink into dancing patterns on the polished stone and expensive southern rugs.

And of a witch, called Angela by some, who just then held a toad in one hand and a frog in the other, while a cat called Solembum watched both animals hungrily.

And of an elf named Vanir, who held his sword, and an elf-woman named Ceres who wrote words of a battle, and young elven sisters Ariadne and Phaedra who sparred together under the moon and trees of Du Weldenvarden, and a boy named Eragon who flew recklessly on a Dragon named Saphira, over the wild mountains and rushing rivers of a land named Surda.

All were to play their own part in this tale.

It is also a tale of the End. Of fighting it, and fearing it, and when the End came, embracing it.

But mostly, this is the tale of a young woman. A slave-girl named Kaela who was owned by the King and worked long days in the fields just outside Uru'baen, growing the crops that fed the King's palace and its entourage of nobles.

And just now, as Selene and her silver chariot rose high in the inky black sky, Kaela dropped wearily onto her straw-stuffed pallet in the slave pens, covered in sweat and grime from the days work.

All, Murtagh and Angela, and Solembum and Ceres, and Vanir and Ariadne and Phaedra, and Eragon and Saphira-of-the-blue-scales, would have their part to play in Kaela's tale. Though they did not know it, their destinies were intertwined deeply together, shaping the cloth of fate, molding the future.

The world was changing. No one just knew it quite yet.

**AN: Read on! But before you do, leave a review to show you care!**

**Amairys  
**


	2. Kaela

Kaela didn't want to wake up. She dreamed of white horses along a sea shore, that turned into foamy, white-crested waves and disappeared into the water. She dreamed of grabbing the tallest horse by his silver mane and swinging astride, and riding away, away from the city and slave pens and wheat fields, and the Empire and King.

It was a long ring of the bronze gong that woke her. The gong stood in the center of the slave compound, surrounded by the thirty flat huts called the slave pens. This was where the field slaves, who grew the crops that fed King Galbatorix and his Nobles, lived. There were several thousand of them in all, two hundred to a hut. The average lifespan of a field slave wasn't very long.

Kaela was one of these slaves. She was fair skinned and tall, nearly nineteen years of age. Or at least Symphilia, the old woman-slave said – it was fifteen summers to the time when Kaela and her sister had been sold to the empire by slave traders from the east, and Kaela had been a small child then. A moment after the gong was struck, the taskmaster tossed open the slave pen door and strode in, close enough to Kaela to tread on her long hair.

"Up! Up all ye lazy louts," the taskmaster growled harshly. "The fields don't plant themselves, now do they, eh?"

Cracking one eye open, Kaela could see the taskmaster's worn leather boots with iron toes inches from her eyes, blurry in the early morning light. She cringed as he kicked out at an unlucky slave a few feet away. It often had been her, as her straw pallet was one of those closest the doors, and the taskmaster had a vicious habit of kicking the nearest person when in a foul mood.

The taskmaster stalked out. All around her, sickly skinny bodies rose from hundreds of straw stuffed beds, but Kaela didn't get up. Not just yet...

She'd barely closed her eyes when a gaunt, bony finger poked her forehead.

"Come on up, lazy bump."

Kaela cracked one eye open. A dark-skinned girl stood above her. The finger descended once more, and again, and again.

"Poke me all you want Nata, I'm not moving," Kaela told her the dark girl.

"Oh, yes you are," said Nata. "Or the taskmaster will make you. Up. You won't be here forever, girl." With surprising strength for her sickly body, Nata pulled Kaela from her cot and into the frosty morning outside.

The other slaves were gathering already around the brass gong, for next to it was a row of brass cauldrons filled to the brim with a beige gruel. An older slave stood behind each cauldron, ladling the slop into wooden bowls. A line had formed at each cauldron as the field slaves waited to receive their food.

The gruel was served morning, midday, and night, and after a while, did not taste so horrid to a slave. It simply had to be choked down to survive.

Kaela and Nata shuffled into the nearest line. The serving slave handed each a bowl, which they ate quickly. When Kaela had first come to the fields, she'd refused to eat the gruel. Now it tasted like ambrosia to the half-starved woman.

Kaela hadn't always been a field slave. It was only for the past year or so that had been in the fields. Before that, she'd lived in the Great Palace and worked as a kitchen slave and maid.

It was in the Great Palace that Kaela met Murtagh.

_Flashback _

_A young man, little more than a boy, sits on a goose-down bed. He is tired and sweats profusely. He has just returned from a long day of training with the Twin Magicians. They exhaust him._

_ His name is Murtagh. This is his room and only sanctuary from a life he does not wish to lead. _

_ The door suddenly bursts open. A young woman wearing servant's garb strides quickly into the room. She pauses and lets out an "Oh," of surprise when she notices Murtagh._

_ This is Kaela. She is not expecting anyone to be here. Kaela is a slave. Each day, she enters this room at this time, and cleans. _

_ But today, she is not alone._

_ Kaela bows apologetically and makes to leave the room, but Murtagh motions for her to stay. Kaela cleans as usual, but cannot help noticing the tall young man but a few feet away. His presence irritates her._

_ "Do you come every day?" Murtagh suddenly asks._

I've never noticed you, _Kaela tacks onto his words with an inside snicker. "Yes," she says aloud._

_ "Oh," he seems surprised. "I've never noticed you."_

_ Kaela edits Murtagh's speech again – _I thought the cleaning was done by magic!

_"I think – well, I thought, the cleaning was done by magic."_

_ Kaela laughs out loud and hastily apologizes. She can't help letting out her warm alto laugh; he sounds so clueless!_

_ "What!" Now Murtagh is defensive. "Sometimes the Mages do that after we practice! How was I supposed to know that Galbatorix employs servants?"_

_ "Slaves," Kaela says. "Not servants." Then her mouth drops open as she comprehends the rest of what he said. "You don't mean to say that you actually believe in magic, do you?"_

_ He is annoyed. "Yes, I do." _

_ Kaela holds back a snort and continues cleaning. This dragon rider is a fool._

_ "No, look!" he says with a tiny hint of desperation. "Garjzla."_

_ Kaela shrieks and backs away as a glowing ball of white light gathers. When it does nothing, she creeps forward warily and reaches out to touch it. Her hand passes through unharmed. "It's an illusion," she says in wonder._

_ "Not quite," Murtagh says with a small, superior, smile. "It's light. True light, not fire."_

_ Forgetting for a moment that she was a slave and he a dragon rider, Kaela asked "And you brought it here with that word – Garza?"_

_ " Garjzla," Murtagh corrects and a second sphere of light rises to hover near the first one. "It's __the true name of light."_

_ "Oh," Kaela doesn't really understand – light only had one name, after all. Didn't it?_

_ Murtagh nods and Kaela remembers her duty. She resumes dusting the fireplace mantle._

_ Murtagh's voice breaks through the silence. "Hadn't you ever seen magic before?"_

_ "No." Kaela is curt and hopes this will end the conversation. _

_ "Oh."_

_ They lapse into silence, which suits Kaela just fine._

_ The next day arrives and passes quickly. At the normal hour – just before sunset – Kaela returns to the Rider's chamber. She doesn't expect him to be there, but he is. She sighs audibly and begins her work, ignoring Murtagh other than a short bow and formal greeting._

_ He watches her with interest as she works._

_ "Haven't _you_ ever seen someone clean?" Kaela asks, amused and irked, repeating the boy's words back to him with a slight change._

_ She briefly considers how odd it is that she calls him a boy when he is likely her age or older._

_ "No," Murtagh says. "It's not really that interesting."_

_ And you're telling me? Kaela thinks. _

_ "Well... yes," Murtagh says._

_ Kaela's first thought is that she spoke her thoughts aloud unconsciously._

_ "No, you didn't," Murtagh's small, superior smirk is back._

_ "You didn't read my mind!" She is now outraged. Of all the cowardly, awful things to do..._

_ "Sorry," Murtagh says, not sounding sorry at all. "But your mind is sort of loud."_

_ "I don't believe you." Kaela says. He has just guessed accurately, probably._

_ And then her voice is not the only one in her mind. _

_ Believe me now? Something says. It is Murtagh._

_ "Get out!" Kaela screeches. The second presence quickly evaporates, leaving one voice and a large sense of vulnerability._

_ They don't speak again for some time until Murtagh announces, "I am a fool."_

_ Why, yes you are, Kaela thinks before remembering her thoughts aren't safe._

_ He ignores this. "Rydja fylla!"_

_ Kaela feels a rush of power, like she is queen of the world, and a burst of warmth."What was that?" she wonders aloud.._

_ "That," Murtagh announces, "was your job." He adds on in a slightly perturbed tone. "You felt that?"_

_ "Warmth," said Kaela. "And power."_

_ She returns to the floor she was washing and sees – it is clean. She checks the desk and the waste bins and can already see the books are gone from the floor. Her job is done._

_ "You did that."_

_ The rider nods._

_ "With two words."_

_ Another nod._

_ Kaela moves to leave. To her surprise, Murtagh asks her to stay. He knows she is expected to be cleaning his chamber for another half hour. Kaela suspects he hasn't had much conversation for a long time. He is lonely._

_ She stays, and they talk. Their talk is about nothing. It is mostly Murtagh rambling and Kaela nodding every few sentences. She hears much she should not have._

_ Murtagh is, he says, the son of a monster._

_ He thinks the empire would be better off unified, under either the King or the Varden. He doesn't really care which._

_ Thorn is his dragon._

_ Thorn is intelligent; all dragons are._

_ Murtagh once had a close friend. _

_ This friend is now gone, and Murtagh wishes he were with him._

_ Thorn is now Murtagh's only friend._

_ There is still a dragon egg in the empire._

_ The last one sort of slips out, but Murtagh doesn't notice. He continues talking until Kaela must go. He stares after her with a wistful expression when she leaves._

_ He is lonely._

_ That night, Kaela lies in her straw stuffed pallet, in the Castle Slave quarters (for she has not yet been moved to the Fields), and listens to the quiet breathing of those around her. It is hot in this place. There are to many here, in this long room with a low ceiling and a very few small windows. Though it is too dark to see much,Kaela stares at the low stone ceiling above and the hard stone floor below, and where she knows Elena's golden-blonde hair is, to the left._

_ The room is quiet save for the steady breathing of those lost in slumber. On a whim, Kaela raises her hand to the ceiling. "Garjzla," she whispers as loudly as she dares. Nothing happens._

_ Disappointed, Kaela rolls over so her back faces Elena and tries to sleep._

_ All that week, Kaela returns as usual to Murtagh's chambers. He is not there for three days. On the fourth day, she walks in to find him sitting on the satin-sheeted velvet-covered bed, holding a ruby-colored sword._

_ "This is Zar'roc," he says by way of explanation, and then places the wickedly sharp thing in it's scabbard, lying it next to him._

_ "Oh." _

_ Murtagh once again cleans by magic – Rydja fylla! – and they talk the hour away. It is easier __than last time, because Kaela understands Murtagh now._

_ Or at least she thinks she does – there is much of Murtagh she will never know._

_ They continue like this for some months. Kaela learns more about Murtagh and the world than she ever thought she would. She knows him now, probably better than anyone else but Thorn. He teaches her to shield her mind, although his probes can easily break through her defenses, and how to connect her mind with others. She still isn't very good at it._

_ One day he is not there – nor is he there the next day, or the next, or the next. On the seventh day, he returns. _

_ Kaela is thankful for his return, but she hides it. _

_ Murtagh has changed over the week alone. He is angry now – angry at the King, the Varden, everything. All he will tell Kaela is that he has done something terrible. And that he has hurt a friend._

_ Kaela cleans by hand that day, because Murtagh is drained from something Kaela knows little of. She thinks it was a battle, because everyone has heard of the King's great victory over the Varden, even the slaves, and the peasants, and the beggars in the streets. Everyone._

_ She asks him about this and he only will say that is was not so great a victory._

_ It is three months later that something changes._

_ "i wanted to try something," Murtagh breathes. They – he and Kaela – are close now. Murtagh leans closer still, until their foreheads touch._

_ It is wrong. But it feels right, and Kaela does not try to stop it._

_ They stand together, foreheads close, for the longest time, until Kaela leans in more and their lips touch._

_ And that is their first kiss. It is full of emotion – empathy._

_ They break apart and stare into each others eyes._

_ Who are you? Each asks silently. Because, you've changed me._

_ And it seemed right, for the first time in a long, long while._

_ It is a week before she sees him once more. After that, he is there each and every day. They kiss again, and again, and again. Murtagh tells Kaela he loves her. She believes him._

_ Kaela walks into Murtagh's chamber, where she now feels safer than anywhere else. Murtagh stands at the window, staring to the south. She joins him there. _

_ The Great Palace sits at Uru'Baen's southernmost edge, and from the 7__th__ level, where they are, the empire is spread out like a painting beneath them. The Fields and slave pens are just outside the walled city. A village a few miles away is close enough that Kaela and Murtagh see smoke rising from little huts into the clear blue sky. To the west, the sun dips low over the empty plains, showering the sea of grass in a brilliant fire of orange and purple and deep red._

_ "I want you to ride Thorn with me," Murtagh announces suddenly, grabbing Kaela's hand and holding it close._

_ "They'll notice."_

_ "I don't care."_

_ Murtagh's eyes go blank as he talks silently with Thorn, his dragon._

_ Thorn flies to the human-sized window of Murtagh's room. Kaela understands the window must be made for this purpose. Air whooshes loudly under the mighty dragon's wings as he nears._

_ Kaela uses all of her concentration and strength to push her mind out to contact Murtagh; he lets her through his mind walls._

_ I'm scared, she says silently._

_ Don't be._

_ Murtagh climbs out the large window and onto Thorn. He holds his hand out for Kaela to take, __but she makes her own way onto the enormous dragon and sits behind Murtagh._

_ "Hold on," he warns with a devilish grin._

_ Thorn takes off and suddenly they are gone! Over the plains, and the faraway village and a grove of trees, dropping low enough for Thorn's belly to graze the waters of a small lake, rising high on the wind to where Kaela's long hair whips in the chilly breeze and her nose grows red with cold. Murtagh laughs, a rich tenor sound full of life and spirit. _

_ They are free._

_ Kaela wishes they might go forever, past the planes and the mountains and across the sea to a land where there is no King, and no slavery, and – nothing. But Murtagh and Thorn's oaths would not allow this, so it is with a sigh that Kaela,Murtagh, and Thorn turn back to the northeast and return to their lives. Kaela hates that they must. This, this is freedom. It is how life should be lived._

_ And neither is truly free. Kaela is imprisoned and forced to work against her will, and Murtagh is held by his magic-oaths to the monstrous King. Kaela vows to herself that it shall not be this way always._

_ Back inside, both look wistfully out the window once more. It is hard looking, and knowing they cannot go. Deep inside Kaela's soul, there is a burn for freedom that was not present before._

_ She can't ignore it. _

_ So she must satisfy it._

_ That night, Murtagh and Kaela talk, talk like they've never talked before. They make plans. It hurts Murtagh to know that to be free, Kaela must leave him, but he would rather her be free without him than enslaved and by his side. _

_ He knows too, that one day they might be free together, if only Galbatorix's hold on him was broken._

_ He knows there are only two ways to do this. First, he might change his true name, and in doing so change himself completely and totally. This will never happen, because Kaela has changed him so __much that he will never be changed in the same way again. _

_ Or, the Varden must defeat Galbatorix. _

_ And the Varden would need a second Rider for that. And for a second Rider, they would need a second egg._

_ Murtagh and Kaela scheme and plot throughout the night, and in the morning, they have a plan._

_ It never happens. A day after, Kaela is summoned with a group of other slaves around her age and sent to the Fields. She has not seen Murtagh since._

_ End Flashback_

Kaela moved through the day in a dazed way, the same as she always did. There were two more bowls of gruel, at mid-noon and sundown.

When she dropped, weary and aching, into her pallet that night, Kaela couldn't yet fall asleep. An unknown _something_ kept her awake, something she couldn't name.

When all but Kaela had drifted into sleep, a weak presence touched her mind. The voice was faint, like a shout from miles away. And yet Kaela recognized the alien mind.

It was Murtagh.

_Kaela._

_ I hear you, I hear you, _she concentrated on projecting her words. Kaela's mind control was still weak, and she couldn't project very far. She did not know if Murtagh heard.

_Look under your cot._

Murtagh faded away. Kaela was too tired to appreciate the power and control the Rider had needed to project his mind so far, but she was not so tired to not heed his instructions.

Kaela crawled slowly onto the hard sod between her pallet and the next, careful not to bump the sleeping Nata next to her or wake another with the noise.

The pallet made a heavy brushing noise as Kaela slid it up off the sod ground, causing the young woman to freeze. Her heart pounded so loudly that she thought _someone_ must here it. Nothing moved.

She relaxed a bit and slowly reached underneath the heavy pallet, feeling around for whatever Murtagh wanted her to find. Her fingers found a scrap of paper that had been folded upon itself many times. It was still half-wedged under the pallet, so Kaela lifted the pallet more, straining under it's weight. Barely had she pulled the small paper free when the pallet's weight became too much for her and it dropped from her hand.

A _thump _echoed throughout the building, reverberating off the walls. Kaela's heart jumped out of her chest as she waited, frozen as a deer caught in headlights, for someone to wake.

Nata rolled over and muttered something too low for Kaela to catch.

Once again, none woke.

_Twice I have been lucky, _Kaela thought. _I doubt it shall be so a third time._

Erring on the side of caution, Kaela quietly edged her pallet back into place and crawled on top of it. She clutched the paper to her chest.

On a whim, Kaela threw her hand into the air like she remembered Murtagh doing. "Garjzla," she whispered, as loudly as she dared. Nothing happened. Kaela slipped the small paper into her tunic's lining and rolled over, so her back faced Nata.

In a few minutes, she was asleep.

**AN: To everyone who reads this – please, please leave a review. I really do appreciate reviews; they give me much-needed encouragement to keep writing. I know it's not feasible for everyone who reads this to leave a review, but it only takes a few seconds and really makes my day. I would love to hear constructive criticism, if you have any. Thanks! I hope you enjoyed the chapter.**

**My next update will probably come Monday, May 28. I will be in DC until then with no access to a computer.**


	3. Hekabe and Khaos

It wasn't until nearly midday that Kaela was able to read Murtagh's note. It was written in an unfamiliar handwriting and unsigned – likely as a safeguard had another discovered it first.

At first Kaela didn't understand it. Murtagh had encoded the message in a code of strange phrases and intentional grammar mistakes. But then she began to see patterns, repeated words and letters much heavier than the rest. In time, it was deciphered.

Hearing footsteps behind her, Kaela hastily stuffed the small paper into her tunic. She quickly grabbed her bucket of water and began trickling it over a corn plant.

The footsteps ended a meter behind Kaela, followed by a thump of a water pail and a forlorn sigh.

"I saw."

Kaela turned to face the voice, although she already knew who it was – Nata. "And?"

"I'm not stupid, girl. You're going to get outta here," Nata said, daring Kaela to correct her. "You been planning this for months. You got some kind of help from _outside." _Outside the slave compound were the unspoken words that followed this.

Kaela said nothing in response.

"Well, I – I – good luck, girl. You gonna need it."

Kaela slipped into the slave pen speech unthinkingly. "I know, girl. I know." She'd have to break that habit; none spoke like that in the outside. In the great palace, the ghetto speech wasn't used. In the slave pens, it was all that was spoken. It would give her away the instant she opened her mouth.

"I – " but Nata couldn't think of the right words, so she nodded once, turned and left.

Kaela regretted having to leave Nata in the slave pens. For so long, Nata had been her only friend. They'd worked together in the great palace and were moved together to the fields. But Murtagh's escape was for one, and only one.

Kaela vowed that one day she would return to free Nata and the others.

Murtagh's note had, in fact, been an escape plan. Tonight, Kaela would leave Uru'Baen.

The plan was simple. So simple that Kaela found herself doubting it would ever work, more than she'd ever doubted something before.

Sneak out.

Get the pack.

Run.

And that was the end. Murtagh had stowed the pack along the banks of the of the Ramr River, just north of Uru'baen, under a solitary beech tree. Kaela knew the spot. The escape would be quick, clean, and easy. She would be across the river and treking through the plains by dawn.

It was too easy. There had to be a catch somewhere. What can go wrong, will go wrong. Make no mistake about it.

Kaela labored through the day in a mindless stupor. As the last clang of the bronze gong rang throughout the fields and slave compound, Kaela lay face down in the rows of corn and covered herself with dead leaves. An hour past, then two, then three. All was quiet; no footsteps passed.

Still Kaela waited.

The moon was three nights from full, a nearly complete circle in the dusky gray-blue sky. It hung low, clouds passing in front, smothering it's light for brief intervals. Kaela saw none of this, face down as she was in the corn field.

When she could hear nothing but the cold wind whipping through the corn stalks, Kaela rose and moved to pull the note from her tunic lining.

But she froze halfway and laughed a warm alto laugh, shattering the silence.

She pulled out the note and unfolded it. _I will show you the way – keep the parchment, _the last line read. But she'd never imagined it would work like this!

A glowing blue circle had appeared in the center of the paper. When Kaela walked forward it grew steadily brighter and changed colors to red. She walked a meter left, testing it out. The circle dimmed and changed too blue once more.

This was how Murtagh planned to show her the way. It was a giant game of hot and cold.

She returned to the right and watched the circle change.

Using the circle as her guide, Kaela crept along the path Murtagh laid out. The moon and stars guided her way.

The path wrapped around Uru'baen. In a short few hours the river was in sight. Murtagh had said in his note, to go north always. Although Surda, the Varden, and freedom lay to the south, Galbatorix' armies crawled all over the southern half of the Empire. It was far too dangerous. Kaela would go north to Ceunon, and if they could be found, the elves.

But Ceunon was not as safe as Murtagh thought it to be. News travels slow in the Empire. Ceunon was now captured by the elves, and great masses of humans had already been mercilessly slaughtered under the foreign rule.

Murtagh did not know of this, and wouldn't know for another week, by which time Kaela would be too far away to reach.

Kaela was now but a quarter mile from the beech tree where Murtagh left the pack. She couldn't believe how easy it had been.

But all that can go wrong, will go wrong. Make no mistake about it.

So what was the catch?

The catch came in the form of a witch-woman named Hekabe, who took nightly walks by the river. Hekabe was old, a hundred years or more – she didn't keep track anymore. She had magic. Hekabe was not so talented or powerful, but far more so than Kaela.

Hekabe had always supported the empire. Long, long ago, she worked as a magician in the King's army. And she was one of few who knew the truth about the dragon eggs.

It just so happened that she and Kaela reached the beech tree at the same time.

Both saw the pack.

Both reached for the pack.

Both grabbed the pack.

Both reached inside.

Hekabe found a dragon egg. Kaela grasped a thin dagger.

Hekabe gasped and screeched "Thief! Thief! Thief by the river!" in hope of her cries reaching Uru'baen's night guard.

Kaela grabbed the ancient witch and shook her clamping her hand over Hekabe's mouth. Hekabe bit Kaela's palm, and when the young woman let go, gasping in pain, Hekabe began to chant.

Though her chanting was in the ancient language, Hekabe's witch spell was not magic of the sort Murtagh used.

Hekabe was summoning a spirit.

_"Koma krellr, kvedja ykkarr, koma hyrr, koma andlat, Khaos!"_

Kaela violently kicked the old woman and attacked her with her fists.

This caused Hekabe to stumble and lose her concentration.

This stumble would be the death of both.

Hekabe finished her spell without the strength she'd started with. The spirit, once called, came. Came into Hekabe's body, came into her blood, conquered her mind, seized use of her hands and legs and mouth.

The spirit seized Hekabe.

Hekabe became a shade.

This would be the death of both.

The shade Hekabe screamed, twisting painfully in her changing body. Hekabe no longer seemed old, or female. Her – his – hair was a violent shade of scarlet, his skin a ghostly white. "I am Khaos!"

Hekabe-Khaos screamed once more, attracting the attention of the city guards three miles south. The shade growled at Kaela.

Kaela halted a fist in mid-swing as she looked in shock at the old-woman-turned-male shade. No more was Hekabe a tiny woman. This was Khaos, pale as snow, bloody as a ruby, overgrown teeth – so like fangs – and a new look. The I-will-destroy-you-insolent-mortal look.

The young woman choked out a throttled moan as Khaos stretched his too-large hands around her throat and cut off her air supply, pressing deeply into her thyroid. The world seemed to spin and grow hazy.

In a move of desperation, Kaela grabbed at the thin dagger from where she'd dropped it after picking it from the bag, straining to reach it before she blacked out from the pressure.

She didn't make it.

A buzzing filled Kaela's ears and her vision closed in with black.

She prepared for the end.

There was a bright flash of red, fiery light, a burst of blistering warmth...

"Aaaiiee!" the pained, horrific scream tore through the air, from Khaos' burning throat to Kaela's ears. She was thrown a meter from Khaos, who was blasted in the opposite direction.

The blackness quickly dissipated.

The ground beneath Kaela was now wet. Icy water lapped at her head and neck, shocking her into awareness. For a quarter mile around, a red glow permeated the air, accompanied by a burning stench. The red glow gradually disappeared into blackness, but not before alerting her location to the Uru'baen guards.

Kaela stumbled over to the beech tree, which was now blackened and giving off an evil-smelling smoke. Khaos had disappeared. In place of the shade's body, there was a mound of ashes, scattered over three or four square feet. The pack was still under the tree, with the dagger, thankfully unharmed.

But where had the red fire come from?

Kaela thought she knew. Surrounding her hands was a faint red gleam that occasionally sparked. She had obviously used magic, somehow. Never before had she managed to...

Kaela stared with hope at her tingling hands. "Garjzla!" she whispered softly.

Nothing happened. Kaela threw her hands up in disgust and stalked over to the pack. She had barely picked it up when she heard a shout from a mile south.

The Uru'baen guard patrol was closing in. Kaela turned a 360, and seeing no options, grabbed the pack. She ran to the rivers edge, and with one last backward glance at the forbidding city of Uru'baen and a cautious look at where the city guard was, with their swinging lanterns and shouting voices, threw herself into the icy black waters.

The current was unbelievably strong, and it swept Kaela and the pack quickly under the surface. Kaela had taken a deep breath before plunging into the deep river, but she knew the air wouldn't last long.

Holding tightly to the bag, Kaela scrambled in the icy water, trying to fight off the bitter cold and reach the faraway surface at the same time. Her head scraped a sharp edged river rock, gaining her a gash on her forehead. Kaela couldn't feel it – both the cold and the adrenaline cut off her senses.

Either she would die by the cold, or die from lack of air. Something had to happen and fast. For the second time that night, Kaela unconsciously called upon her magic. A bubble of warmth and air enveloped her as she hurtled down the river at incredible speeds.

The current was strong, but Kaela's wild magic was stronger still. She willed the bubble up to the surface, and it followed her commands. She and her bubble surfaced five or so miles north and east of where they began.

Kaela crawled, soaking wet, from the river with her pack. The dagger had been lost in the rushing waters, before the bubble came. Kaela's hands were raw and red from gripping the packs leather straps.

The adrenaline was leaving her body rapidly. The cold, and the bruises on her neck, and the cuts were now catching up to her. She felt the terror that she hadn't when Khaos throttled her, and cried with the pain of the gash on her forehead. Kaela curled up in a ball on the open, deserted river banks and cried, sobs wracking her body from head to toe.

After an hour or so, some internal survival instinct compelled her to seek out shelter. She found a small grove of ten trees and placed her pack in the center of them. She pulled a thick woolen blanket from the pack and mentally thanked Murtagh for placing it there. The long grass of the plains was not so thick in the trees, but still swept over her face and whipped with the wind, creating strange, eerie sounds in the night.

Kaela dug further in the pack, ignoring the large package Murtagh had placed in there – the egg. Right now, she wanted food. Her fingers found three wrapped packages in the very bottom. She grabbed the first and tore into the paper covering it. The package contained a hard, black bread. Kaela ripped a hunk of bread off and ravenously bit into it.

It wasn't particularly good; it was travelers rations, hard and made to last.

It was the best meal she'd ever had.

It was her first meal in freedom.

Kaela finished, and, deciding not to risk a fire, bundled herself in the blanket and burrowed into the long grass. She fell asleep quickly.

Not so far away, a rider named Murtagh threw a pen against the wall for the second time that week. The ink splattered in dancing patterns over the walls and expensive southern rug. He growled in frustration.

At the same time, a second rider named Eragon and his dragon Saphira reunited in a land called Surda, after a week of separation.

And an elf-woman named Ceres stared into a pool of inky black water, scrying something that refused to appear to the elven historian.

And two elven sisters known as Phaedra and Ariadne prepared for war.

And a slave named Elena, and a slave named Nata, and a slave named Alalon, and a slave named Nike, dreamed of freedom and plotted, and waited, and watched. And when the moment was right, they would strike. They plotted separately, but one day would come together in rebellion. And so they waited. Waited and watched and dreamed.

And a witch-woman named Angela held a stolen sword-staff in one hand and a werecat named Solembum in her other arm, and they surveyed the lands of Surda and the Varden together from a craggy cliff's peak.

And a newly formed shade called Khaos, once Hekabe, was slowly reforming. For he had not been killed by the blast of wild, amateur magic, only destroyed and deeply angered. Soon, he would be as he was before, only stronger and wiser and more powerful. He would be Kaela's mortal enemy for all time. Soon he would bring to her all the pain she had inflicted upon him. _That_ would be his revenge, and what a glorious revenge!

But Kaela knew nothing of this. She thought of sleep, and dreamed of Murtagh, and her, together in an empty, fantasy land. A land with no king, and no hate, and only love and freedom. Somewhere, deep down, she knew that soon she must return to the mortal world and the looming dangers she faced. For now, though, she was content to explore this wonderful land with her love and be happy, happy, happy...

**AN: Hope you enjoyed! I certainly enjoyed writing it; I love writing the action sequences!**

**Leave a review and let me know you stopped by! I'm happy to answer any questions you might have.**

**Also: just a fun challenge – anyone want to guess where I get my character's names from? Iphigenia, Hekabe, Khaos, Alalon, Nike, Ceres, Phaedra, and Ariadne all come from the same source. Kudos to anyone who gets it.**


	4. It

Chapter Three

It

Kaela groaned and rolled over in her sleep. It was early morning by now, and the wind of last night had died down to a cooling breeze. Kaela's eyes gradually opened to the gentle sunlight and empty grove of trees.

Prying herself from the woolen blanket, Kaela stood and stretched her arms and back. She yawned. The high position of the spring sun told her it was just before noon. She'd lost quite a lot of time in sleep, but after the escape of the previous night it was only to be expected.

Although Kaela had crossed over a low ridge while in the river, and the city Uru'baen was no longer visible, there would be no more fires for a while. It was too great a risk to take. Smoke rose high on the prairie winds, revealing her location to any that happened to look.

Out of the pack came another cold breakfast – black bread again. The other two packages contained meat and hard cheese. Kaela decided she would ration her supplies carefully, reasoning that what she had would last two weeks at most. She did not know if there were any towns between Uru'baen and Gil'ead, so the packed rations and sparse hunting would need to see her through for a while.

Kaela estimated that she'd lost four or five hours time sleeping. She packed up her temporary camp in a hurry, eager to leave. She did not unwrap the egg.

Kaela knew about the dragon egg. Murtagh had spoken of it often in their months together. It was the Varden's only hope. It was _her_ only hope – hers and Murtagh's. If she didn't make it to the elves or the Varden, she would never see Murtagh again.

Kaela followed the Ramr for several hours, seeing only the river and the tall grass and hearing only the roaring waters and the occasional bird. Once, near dusk, a plain-dwelling animal of some sort – an antlered beast with an ugly mane of dirt-colored, wiry hair – leaped across her path on it's way to the Ramr.

Kaela briefly considered shooting it for food. Sooner or later she would need fresh food, and now, twenty miles or more from Uru'baen it was surely safe to start a small fire. And there were more of the antler beasts – Kaela had missed them in the long grass and sound of rushing water – at the river banks a tenth of a mile away. The plains animals all drank from the Ramr.

But Murtagh had left her no bow, nor any arrows. The one weapon, the dagger, had been lost in the river.

That evening, as Kaela made her camp in the long grass, she looked through the pack once more for a weapon she might have missed. There were none.

She did make some interesting finds, however. The first was a small hunting knife. It had no use as a weapon, was only three inches long, and was supposed to be used for skinning small animals. The second find was a pouch of money containing more coins than your average farmer earned in a year. These would be useful for food, and to purchase a small weapon.

The third was two sets of clothes – but not dresses. They were man's clothes, made for a boy just passed his sixteenth year. There were many reasons for this, one of which was that it was far more common to see a lone boy traveling to a city for work, than a young woman with no escort. Kaela was tall and broad shouldered enough to get away with the disguise, as long as none investigated more thoroughly.

Kaela ate quickly – black bread and a strip of dried meat – and then set to work. The first thing she did was to cut off her hair.

Never before had Kaela's head felt so light. With the hunting knife, she cut her long golden hair from her chin down. Kaela could not see the back of her head; the new haircut was awful and jagged. She remembered the woolen cap Murtagh had packed in with the clothes, and breathed a sigh of relief. The cap would help.

Kaela then filled her leather water flasks from the Ramr. The river waters were cool and clean, not completely clear but very close. It didn't taste so bad, either, Kaela noted with surprise, other than the inevitable bit of sand.

She estimated she'd walked twenty miles that day. At that rate, the supplies wouldn't last halfway to Gil'ead. There would be no more sleeping late, walking from dawn to dusk was the only way she'd make it in time. At least there was plenty of fresh water. She would survive.

Now Kaela stretched out under the woolen blanket and slept.

And far to the south, Murtagh did not sleep, but anxiously paced the edges of his chamber in an endless pattern.

And right beside Kaela, another lay in wait. Soon, soon...

_.-*-._.-*-._.-*

It had been waiting a long, long time for the Chosen.

It couldn't imagine what was taking the Chosen so long. The Chosen was near, very near, to It, and It anxiously awaited the moment when the Chosen would touch It and bring It out into the sunlight. It had never seen the sunlight, but It knew what sunlight was, because long ago, It's mother had told It many things while It was still in It's shell. It knew that It would be a warrior. A great warrior, and that together with the Chosen, It would be unstoppable. It knew this.

It couldn't wait. It was ready to fight. If only the Chosen would bring It out, oh, so much could It do!

But the Chosen would come when the Chosen was ready. So for now, It would wait. It would wait forever for the Chosen, if It had to.

But that didn't mean It would be patient. _That_ was just too much to ask.

_.-*-._.-*-._.-*

Kaela woke early the next morning. She refilled her water skins, and, not stopping for breakfast, continued on with her journey. Well before noon, Kaela stopped to drink and have a bite to eat. The hard black bread and dried meat tasted wonderful to her after months of naught but gruel.

She walked that day until the sun set low in the west. The plains were on fire, in a brilliant bath of flaming orange and deep fuchsia. Sunset was spectacular on the plains. But it also meant that she could not travel farther, with no way to see in the dark.

She set up camp in the reeds once more, ate a quick dinner, and went to bed.

But not before noticing thin plumes of smoke in the distance. Grass fire!

Kaela didn't move. The fire was miles upon miles away. She now knew of the danger, though.

The next day held more walking, and another three grass fires, one of which was quite close. Grass fires were a constant fear and enemy.

Afternoon brought a thunderstorm, which rolled in from the east and let out torrents of rain, and jagged bolts of lightning.

At the first boom of thunder, Kaela went to the empty meter of land between the grass and the river and sat there, hands over her head, for minutes that seemed like hours, days, an eternity...

The sounds of thunder grew closer, and Kaela, sure the end was near, looked up at the sky in a silent prayer. But what she saw made her forget her pleas to the gods and instead gape, mesmerized, by the flashing lightning and pouring, black rain, and angry clouds, and mysterious, luminescent spheres that would bounce in the air and then disappear.

_Garjzla._

The lightning spheres were so like the ones Murtagh could conjure with a wave of his hand and a single word, spoken carelessly. It broke Kaela's heart to know that she'd left him behind.

Left him behind with the King.

Left him behind with the King's wrath.

Kaela hadn't even thought what would happen to Murtagh because of the egg. And now, once the King discovered his precious egg – the last in the empire – missing, who knew what he would do to Murtagh? Surely the King would realize Murtagh had been the egg thief.

And how had Murtagh known where to find the egg in the first place? How had the King been so lax as to allow it to be stolen? It didn't add up, somehow...

Murtagh might be dead by now. Well, probably not since he was valuable, but he might be tortured, and in pain. Probably was.

Kaela reached into the pack and pulled out the cloth-wrapped dragon egg, scrutinizing it. It was much smaller than Kaela would have thought, and very light. Kaela did not unwrap it, but she held it to her ear and heard a faint squeak and a deep hum.

She pulled it away and sighed. "Oh, little dragon," she murmured. "I hope you're worth it. I really hope you are."

Then she put the egg back, stopping momentarily after hearing what sounded rather like an indignant squeak. She then shrugged and stuffed it in the leather pack.

_.-*-._.-*-._.-*

The 'indignant squeak', was an indignant squeak. It was not happy with the Chosen. The Chosen was supposed to touch It so It would hatch and they could fight together. It was ready to_ fight,_ by the fang, not be _stuffed_ unceremoniously into a small, _smelly _pack. It wanted out. It wanted the Chosen. It wanted _now! _It could smell the stink of round-ears-two-legs food all around him, and the sharp-gray-sword-rock scent of a knife. And It did not like this.

It _would_ get out. The Chosen could not be protected if It was in It's shell, and It _must_ protect the Chosen.

It loved the Chosen.

It loved the fight.

And very soon, It would have both.

It couldn't wait.

_.-*-._.-*-._.-*

Murtagh was actually, unbeknownst to Kaela, perfectly fine, due to a tricky bit of mind control and some information known to only him.

He was now walking along a hallway in the great palace. Galbatorix had summoned him, immediately to come to the throne room. It wasn't a good sign, but Murtagh wasn't worried. Sort of.

Galbatorix was waiting for Murtagh.

The King was sitting in his carved black oak and silver throne, fingering the gold inlay on one of the arm rests. As soon as Murtagh entered the vast chamber, Galbatorix looked up.

Galbatorix eyes pierced through Murtagh's soul and mesmerized him at once, drawing him in, in, in... dark pools... dark tunnels... dark secrets...

The hypnotic eyes released their hold on Murtagh. The young rider shook, as if to rid himself of the King's gaze.

"Murtagh." The King had a deep, resonating voice that echoed throughout the empty, cavernous chamber.

And that was all he said.

Murtagh stood uncomfortably silent for a few minutes, and when the king said nothing more, began studying the walls behind the throne. The castle had two parts – old and new. The old parts of the castle were what survived from the great citadel of Ilirea, the elven city Galbatorix destroyed and built Uru'baen on top of. The new parts were of Galbatorix' design – the stones were sharper and more firmly set, rooms immensely vast, tall spires here and there, vault ceilings, arches everywhere. Galbatorix had a thing for arches.

The throne room was in the new section. All the entries had no doors, but were tall arches of immaculately cut stones. A richly decorated red rug covered most of the floor, conveniently ending just before where visitors to the King stood – where Murtagh now stood.

The throne itself was against a wall with no exits, although Murtagh suspected there was a hidden escape chute, concealed by magic, somewhere. No one could enter the room without being seen by the King in his throne.

An ancient-style frieze depicting a glorified version of Galbatorix' duel with Vrael adorned the stone wall to the north, a frieze of the first Eragon and the beginning of the riders on the east wall, and one depicting the thirteen forsworn and their master, the 'wise' King, to the West.

The last frieze, on the northern wall, was a map of the empire, and in the center, an image of Galbatorix stood out from the rest. Galbatorix in the frieze wore long, flowing robes. He carried a scepter with a great jewel in his left hand, a scroll in his right – power and knowledge. Both arms were outstretched to the full, and the figure had a visible aura of might. On the figure's head rested a laurel wreath – he, the victor.

But the most compelling, most powerful part of the frieze was the figure's – Murtagh couldn't think of it as the King's – face. It's expression was wise. Wise, and benevolent, and powerful, and terrible, and beautiful.

The King, the real Galbatorix, was all that and more. But more cunning, than wise, and not so benevolent, but rather knowing how to appear generous and good-natured, and how to lull the gullible into a false sense of security. Powerful, yes, but what a great and terrible power it was! And beautiful – the King's voice was beautiful. His visions were beautiful. His plans for the future, were beautiful.

And it was all a lie.

"Murtagh."

Once more the King spoke. Murtagh looked up, dragged from his thoughts by Galbatorix the wise, the benevolent, the powerful, the terrible, the beautiful. Galbatorix the liar.

"My lord?" Murtagh bowed his head in submission to his master.

"Come with me. There is much we must discuss." Galbatorix rose from the throne, royal purple – the color of the rich – robes billowing around him as he walked through the eastern arch and into the matrix of passageways.

Murtagh hurried to keep up with his master. They twisted through many passages, under arches and through narrow corridors. They met no one – a great many people lived in the palace, but none in the east wing, which belonged completely to the King. After many minutes, Murtagh began to see a change in the architecture. They were entering the old part of the palace.

Not many ventured into the old section. Parts of the walls were crumbling inward, other parts falling outward, and cobwebs, dust, pools of stagnant water, and must present everywhere. Murtagh wondered briefly why the King didn't have the old section repaired, but he supposed Galbatorix had far more pressing concerns on his mind.

And the state of disrepair provided an obstacle to any trying to steal whatever the King wished to hide.

And then it dawned on him.

They were going to visit the dragon egg. He'd never seen it before.

It was also the last remaining dragon egg, if the one he'd given Kaela hatched.

For Galbatorix' egg was not the only one in existence.

Another egg existed – one the King did not know about. Although the King had access to Murtagh's mind, Murtagh could still keep his secrets by blocking off a small section deep in his mind and hiding the walls in such a way that the King would never manage to find out what lay behind them.

Murtagh's primary walls were still up; the second set rested far behind them. It was a little trick that Murtagh had invented; he doubted anyone else could do it.

Because the way he hid the walls was by smothering them in strong emotion.

And that strong emotion was made of two things – his bond with Thorn, and his love for Kaela.

Murtagh doubted that anyone had ever felt anything stronger.

He might have been right.

These walls protected a select few secrets – the Varden, Kaela, and the hidden egg.

The hidden egg was young, far younger than the other three – Thorn, Saphira, and the green egg had been around five hundred years or more. But the golden egg, the one Kaela now had, was a mere hundred years of age. In the age of the Riders, that had been an enormous amount of time for an egg to lie dormant, but the golden egg was the youngest of the five remaining dragons and eggs. Murtagh had been entrusted with it by someone Murtagh would give his life for – Selena, his mother. How Selena had gotten the egg, Murtagh had no clue.

The golden egg had remained a secret from Galbatorix for a hundred years. Murtagh marveled at this; it was near impossible to keep a secret from the King for a day, let alone a year, let alone a century! And yet it happened. There was much to be thankful for.

Once the egg hatched, it would be too late for Galbatorix to do anything but growl.

Murtagh wondered briefly who the egg might hatch for... perhaps Nasuada, who was the new leader of the Varden. Or the elf, Arya. Or perhaps the fugitive cousin of Eragon's – Roran Garrowson. Murtagh soon gave up trying to guess. He didn't really know too many likely candidates from the Varden or the elves.

But Roran Garrowson did sound likely. After all, the three were related – he and Eragon brothers, Roran their first cousin. Murtagh knew of Roran through Eragon, who'd spoken of him often during their time together. And when Murtagh learned of his connection with Eragon, he'd soon realized that Roran was his cousin – and together with Eragon, his only remaining family.

They were the last three of their line, the greatest warriors of their time. Two dragon riders, and the man who moved a village across Alagaesia and slayed the Ra'zac. Murtagh knew about Roran's adventures, of course. All one had to do to learn of them was read any message board in any city - "dangerous" Roran Garrowson's face was plastered all over them. Right next to his cousin Eragon's face. Worth half an earldom each.

His only family, and at any time, he might be ordered to slay them. And he would do it, and feel no regret, too. Regret was a sure way to drown in sorrows and never resurface, and Murtagh didn't fancy that. Not a bit.

Galbatorix stopped suddenly and motioned for Murtagh to stay where he was, before continuing on himself.

_Perhaps I will not see the egg after all_, Murtagh's disappointment grew rapidly.

He could hear, ever so faintly, chanting in the ancient language. It was too faint to hear naturally, and Murtagh had no wish to eavesdrop. Some things were better off unknown when there was an angry King who could poke around inside your head at any time.

Murtagh supposed he would wait until the King had finished his business with the last egg. He was pleasantly surprised, however, when the King stalked back around the corner and motioned for him to follow.

Murtagh and the King strode quickly through the windy, ruined passageways until they came to a halt near a peculiar cluster of three white rocks – quartz. Without looking back at Murtagh, the King walked into the wall and disappeared.

Murtagh did not hesitate. He'd always suspected that some of the castle walls were really concealed doorways, and he walked straight through. The wall looked as solid as ever on the other side.

The architecture had changed once more. The walls were more firmly set, the stones square with sharp rather than rounded edges. The ceiling was a vault of many arches in a row.

Murtagh struggled to catch up with the King, who had not waited for the younger rider to come through the gateway. "Who designed this place?" Murtagh chanced the question, not expecting an answer.

"I did." If anything, the King sounded rather proud.

"But who built it?" Murtagh dared a second one.

"Many workers – great and talented builders and masses of unskilled laborers. They are, regretfully, no longer with us."

So he killed them all. Well, that was one way to keep news of a secret chamber from getting out. Murtagh could not see Galbatorix' face, hidden as it was in shadow, but he could imagine the expression: a self-satisfied air, upturned eyebrows over fierce eyes, sallow, sunken cheeks, his withered lips slightly open and baring his teeth in a cruel smile. Or at least, what passed for a smile on Galbatorix' face – halfway between a grimace and a smirk.

Murtagh looked away. Of course that didn't help; it was all in his mind. It only caused him to walk into a wall when the passageway made an abrupt turn to the left.

They walked for perhaps ten minutes. It was not a friendly silence, but neither was it uncomfortable. The King had charisma, when he bothered to use it. But so often, brute force worked quicker than charm, and the King's charismatic, compelling side was rarely seen.

They stopped without warning, at a point where what had once been a solitary passage branched into three directions.

The King turned to glance appraisingly at Murtagh, and then shook his head. Murtagh barely held back a gasp as, suddenly, his world went dark.

He then felt the rough cloth over his eyes and knew that Galbatorix had blindfolded him.

Murtagh tried to keep track of the tunnels they took and how long they walked, but it was hard, and he soon gave up, letting himself be steered by the King to wherever they might go.

Some time later – Murtagh really didn't know the time – they stopped and entered a small chamber. Galbatorix took off the blindfold now, but by hand. The King's rough fingernails scratched into Murtagh's forehead, drawing blood.

Murtagh blinked, readjusting to the low light.

In the center of the room was a trunk, adorned with gold figures and many jewels. Galbatorix noticed Murtagh's gaze and dismissed the trunk with a wave of his hand. "A mere decoy, my boy."

The King was in a benevolent mood again. Murtagh had seen the real Galbatorix once before – the mad, crazed, power hungry, merciless demon. This facade of benevolence and kindness was as hard to swallow as the real insanity.

Nevertheless, Murtagh knew to tread carefully and dutifully played along with whatever mind games Galbatorix wanted him to.

"Do you want to hold it?"

The question caught Murtagh by surprise. He hadn't realized Galbatorix had brought the egg out. So he played for time. "H – hold – hold what?"

"The egg, idiot boy! The last remaining dragon egg in the world!" Galbatorix laughed merrily.

_The last? I don't think so,_ Murtagh smiled inwardly. _There's another. _You_ just don't know of it._

He accepted the proffered egg and held it reverently. The green dragon egg was beautiful, a rich emerald with spidery veins of alabaster white. It shone like a dragon's scales, shimmering jewels in the dim light of the secret chamber.

Murtagh wondered – had Thorn's egg been this perfect? It must have, but Murtagh couldn't remember the egg itself. Murtagh fell in love with the green egg. It was easy to love; inside rested the last of the greatest species ever to walk the earth. Inside rested the pivotal player in this war, who would surely turn the tides.

But also inside rested a male. And inside the golden egg, there too was a male. Saphira-of-the-blue-scales was truly the last female, and either she would mother the next age of dragons, or the species would perish.

Galbatorix cleared his throat. "I believe I have found the next rider, he who will take the green dragon."

And all Murtagh could do was stand and gape, open-mouthed, as Galbatorix talked of the man who would end the Varden's chances of winning.

And in doing so, end his chances of ever seeing Kaela again.

Murtagh was crumbling inside. He wondered how much longer it would take before he crumbled on the outside, too.

_.-*-._.-*-._.-*

Kaela waited out the remainder of the thunderstorm staring at the sky. She wouldn't get far walking in the storm anyway, and in the makeshift shelter she'd constructed – a person-sized hut made from prairie grass – she was dry. Well, dry was a relative term. But she'd live.

Although the rain poured harder than ever, the thunder and lightning had moved east, into the Hadarac, never even crossing over Kaela.

She ate dinner, savoring the taste of the dried meat and even allowing herself a small portion of the cheese (of which she ate every bit; even the tough rind). For once, Kaela allowed herself as much time to eat as she wanted.

She then tried to fall asleep. The rain and wind were dying down, and the prairie grass shelter was warm and comfortable. Sleep was long coming, and when it did come, uneasy.

Several hours later, Kaela woke with a jolt. Perhaps it was the strange quiet that woke her; the rain had stopped pounding, the wind ceased swirling and whistling. Perhaps it was a cool breeze from the Ramr drifting into the shelter and chilling her nose.

But perhaps it was something else.

Perhaps it was that same _something _that compelled her to reach into her pack, and bring out the dragon egg, wrapped in protective cloths.

Perhaps it was that _something_ that told her to unwrap the egg, that _something_ that made her hold the egg close, that _something_ that caused her to lift it to her cheek and whisper a crooning song to it.

_.-*-._.-*-._.-*

And perhaps – perhaps – that _something_ was an It.

Because It was very happy with what just happened. It was thrilled. It was excited. It was bloodthirsty.

The timer had been set. A day and a night – no more, no less.

It was ready for the fight, and soon It would find the fight, because soon, It was going to hatch.

And when It marked the Chosen as his partner for life, the fight would come.

And It couldn't wait for the fight. It longed for the fight. It loved the fight.

It hoped the Chosen loved the fight too. It was sure she would, because It had chosen the Chosen, and It would never choose one who was not ready to fight.

It was coming. It hoped the Chosen was ready for It.

**AN: So now you know: Galbatorix is really a failed architect who conquered the Empire just so he could have fun building the capitol city. It's a sad but true story.**

**I hope you enjoyed reading chap. 3! I certainly enjoyed writing it. Next chapter – Sunwing. Predictions for what will happen?**

**Thank you to TheLastRider for helping with the prologue (which has been updated, check it out).**

**And one last thing – my stats page and traffic page are broken. Has anyone else been having a problem with them? They aren't recording hits and visitors, since... three days ago. I guess FF .net is having a problem.**

**Sign the shiny guestbook (review)!  
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**Amairys**


	5. Dike

On the fourth day, Kaela woke and immediately noticed plumes of smoke to the north, forty miles or so away. Not unusual in the least.

And then she saw where the smoke came from.

Chimneys.

A town.

Surely not Gil'ead, which was still many leagues off. More likely, it would be a small rural village, sprung from a travelers' stop between Uru'baen and Gil'ead.

Kaela had worn the same clothes, her tattered field slave's garb, since the escape. She now looked warily around and, seeing none, stripped, bundled her old clothes up, and plunged into the river.

The water was freezing in the early morning. Kaela shivered, staying as far away from the current as she could. She washed herself with a handful of sand from the river bank and then hurried to where the pack was stowed.

The dripping wet girl shook herself off, wrung out her hair, and quickly threw on one of the sets of boy's clothes, and covered her jaggedly cut hair with the cap.

The old clothes – her long tunic and cloth belt – smelled horribly. Kaela held them at arms length as she washed them in the river and wrung them out. They dried quickly in the bright sunlight.

And then Kaela was off! Her long walk through the rough grasslands continued for many hours.

It was late afternoon when Kaela approached the town. She hesitated before walking in, trying to organize her story. Her – his – name was to be Castor, from Burnok, going to Gil'ead. Sixteen years old. Kaela steeled her nerves and strode forward.

It was either a fairly large town or an extremely small city. Kaela was not noticed in the crowded streets, which was a blessing.

The first thing she did was to purchase cheap food – hard bread and dried, salted meat – from a peddler's stall in the bustling town square. Her rations from Uru'baen had been running low. Kaela purchased enough food to last until Gil'ead.

She also bought a map, a mediocre drawing inked onto a parchment scroll. The only town between Uru'baen and Gil'ead was Bullridge, along the banks of the River Ramr. Kaela supposed this was where she was.

Her last purchase took place in a small shop in a narrow alley. She'd not found the place easily; a stranger had given her directions, for a fee.

This was a weapons shop. The owner, an small, gray-bearded man with a pronounced limp, was only too happy to help Kaela find what she needed. There were no bows, for when she asked about them, the shop owner's answer was scandalized – "Ye cannot _buy_ a bow! They must be _made, _carefully, by hand, to suit each individual archer."

This pronouncement was followed by a disbelieving sniff and a mutter of 'amateur'.

The shop owner introduced himself as Karait. He talked amiably with Kaela as she chose a small dirk – a long, narrow, straight dagger.

"So, young Castor, where ye from?" came Karait's question.

"The village of Burnok."

"Ah. Just south of Uru'baen, isn't it, then?"

Kaela nodded sharply.

"And where ye off to, then?"

"Gil'ead."

"Ah. Ye off t' join the army then, are you." Kaela heard a faint tone of sadness and a slight bitterness in Karait's words.

Eager to avoid a complicated explanation, Kaela said "Yes."

"The army... that's a bad business, young Castor. I lost me hip in a skirmish three and forty years ago, when I was but a lad your age." Karait warned.

Kaela gave a small, noncommittal nod and examined the chosen dirk carefully. It was a small and narrow weapon, unadorned and rather plain. But it was sturdy and sharp, and not too expensive.

"Ye sure you aren't wanting a bigger weapon, Castor?" Karait rambled. "Although, ye are a might small, and the dirk moves quickly... and I daresay the army will issue you a weapon once ye join up." This was followed by a second haughty sniff and a low mutter of "army _standard_ weapons... not worth a crap."

"Army weapons aren't good then?" Kaela asked the old man.

Karait happily plunged into the question, all the while showing Kaela how to clean and oil the dirk, and choosing a black stone for sharpening the blade. "Army weapons.. they're _horrible_. Why, back when I was a lad, I had a sword from their armory, ugly thing it was, not like this here beauty," Karait tapped the dirk. "Balanced like I was carrying an iron weight, far too long, shoddy craftsmanship. All them blaggards commandin' the troops, they only cared that our weapons were sharp enough to stick the enemy with. I remember, one skirmish with those bloody Urgals to the north. Well, we won the battle all right, but ye should have seen me blade! There were bloody huge nicks all over it!" As Karait grew more enthusiastic with his tale, his language grew more colorful as well. "I must have spent an hour, trying to hone those nicks from that ruddy sword.

"Me fellow soldiers, too. All of us spent night after night working on those damn blades. Curse them Urgals, those bastards.

"And then, the next time, not two months after, I lost me hip." Karait sobered up. "But I was glad to see the end of that ruddy excuse for a hand-and-a-half."

Kaela smiled at the end of his narration.

Karait smiled with her, glad to see a willing audience for his old stories. "Soon after that, I came on back to me hometown, old Bullridge, and started up me shop. It's been three-and-forty-years since that happened. You're not the first young man I've seen come through here, on his way to Gil'ead."

Karait frowned. "Although, ye are one of the smallest. How old did ye say ye were, Castor?"

"I didn't. I'm sixteen, sir. Just turned."

Karait's frown deepened. "It's a shame, it is. All the Empire's fine young men, havin' to leave their families and go off to war." He shrugged. "Ah, well, if ye didn't go they'd just drag ye off to fight anyways."

Karait accepted the coins Kaela gave him in exchange for the dirk, but waved her off when she tried to pay for the whetstone and oil.

"You'll need them more than I," said Karait as he shooed Kaela from his shop. "And here – take these." He pressed a handful of rags into Kaela's arms. "Those are for cleaning the grip and crosspiece. Ye put the oil on them and press it into the leather, got it?"

"Thank you, Karait," said Kaela. She meant it. She smiled a genuine smile at him.

"It's nothing," Karait said gruffly. "Good luck, young Castor."

"And good fortune to you." Kaela bowed her head briefly and then walked off, her new dirk belted around her waist in its simple wood and leather scabbard.

Karait stayed in the shop doorway for a minute, watching Kaela disappear around the corner. He shook his head. "Shouldn't be going off to war yet," he muttered disapprovingly. "Well."

He felt a flash of concern for the young – at least to his eyes – man, and without really noticing, began to utter a prayer to gods he rarely thought of. "Just keep him safe," he said, fully aware he looked a right idiot muttering to the sky. "Keep _all _of them safe. Just let this blasted war end."

But that was not to be, and Karait knew it. He spoke one final prayer, and then went inside. "Good luck, young Castor," he said. "I have a feeling you're going to need it."

_.-*-._.-*-._.-*

Kaela left the alley quickly, anxious to find an inn before sunset. The town square, where the market was held, was as busy as it had been an hour ago.

She tapped the shoulder of a stranger, a young woman near Kaela's age. "Excuse me, madam, would you happen to know where the nearest inn is?"

Kaela's disguise worked well, apparently, as the young woman giggled and winked flirtatiously before answering – "Just around the corner, over _there._"

She pointed toward the western edge of the square. "I'll help you find it, if you want." She winked once more.

Kaela struggled to keep a laugh in, wishing she could tell the woman that she was not a man. The girl's expression would be worth giving up her cover for. Almost. "No thank you," Kaela said, as politely as she could manage while restraining giggles

"Oh," the young woman said, disappointed.

Kaela walked away quickly in the direction the woman indicated. As soon as she'd disappeared from the woman's sight, Kaela sat down on the nearest bench and laughed. And laughed, and laughed, until her body shook with mirth and she began attracting stares from passersby.

"Is something funny, sir?" An impishly grinning boy of eighteen or nineteen years – Kaela's own age – asked. The boy was tall and muscle-bound, with chin-length black hair that covered his ears. His teeth were extremely bright; they shone in a way that wasn't wrong, but was.

"Ah, no," Kaela lied, still shaking.

"Sure, sure." The boy with the too-bright teeth grinned again and stuck out his hand. "Dike."

"Castor," Kaela said, grasping his hand and letting him pull her to her feet.

"You aren't from around here, are you?" Dike guessed. "I think I know most people in Bullridge." He made a face. "Puny little town that it is."

"You don't like here?" Kaela asked.

"Heck no! Where are you from, by the way?"

"Burnok. It's even smaller than here."

"Hard to imagine," Dike said with a long-suffering tone. "So where you heading? I presume this isn't your final destination."

"You're right, it's not. I'm going to Gil'ead. To join the army," Kaela said, using the story from the weapons shop.

"Oh." Dike nodded. "I've thought of doing that, but my mother threw a fit last time I suggested it."

Kaela nodded.

"How'd you get you folks to agree? Can't wait to crush the resistance?" Dike asked casually.

Kaela gave a noncommittal grunt, at which Dike's eyes seemed to flicker. Kaela was beginning to become annoyed at Dike's questions – the boy seemed to pry and pry, fishing for information.

She was relieved when he changed the subject. "So you'll be needing the inn then, right?" He asked.

"Uh-huh."

"It's just this way, follow me."

Kaela followed close behind Dike as he weaved through the crowd. Dike was the most graceful person she'd ever seen. He almost danced, but it _wasn't_ dancing; a fluid, loping stride that belonged on the most graceful horse, or deer, not on a human.

"Bullridge only has one inn," Dike chatted as they moved through the crowd. "but it's a good one, and not at all expensive. And the ale's something special, or so I hear."

"You don't drink?"

"Not much. You?"

"Nay." Kaela could not afford to drink, traveling incognito as she was. She'd never before been drunk and had no idea how she'd act – what secrets she might spill. It was best to just avoid the entire thing as much as possible.

"Ah. Well, they've got decent food as well." Dike glanced at Kaela. "You probably could use a fresh meal – you must've been eating naught but travelers' rations for a two weeks."

"Something like that," Kaela said lightly.

They stopped in front of a multi-story building, one of few in town, constructed from a mix of wood and stone. A cracked wooden sign hanging just before the door proclaimed 'The Open Cask Alehouse & Inn' in bold, blue letters.

Kaela and Dike stepped inside to a brightly lit room. As they did, a bell tinkled but few looked up – those that did saw only two young men and quickly returned to their food.

Every inch of the room was filled with small circular tables and people, people everywhere. It was evidently a dining room; serving girls walked around with steaming platters of food, and a bar was in the west corner. It was still far too early to be drunk, but the bar was nonetheless crowded with men who guffawed at everything and talked in loud voices.

Dike guided Kaela over to a counter where an old man and woman sat, each talking with a traveler who wished to get a room for the night. The customer talking to the old man nodded briefly and slid a few coins over the table.

The instant the old man was free, Dike dragged Kaela over to him. "Hello, I wish to buy a room for one night."

"What kind of room?" The old man said in a way that suggested he was bored of repeating this conversation over and over.

"The basic room," Dike interrupted. "Just the normal one."

Kaela recognized that he knew more than she did and let him handle it. She paid four copper coins for the room, received a key, and was told exactly what sort of behavior would result in her getting kicked out.

She thanked Dike, who flashed another too-bright grin and said "Goodbye, for now. I daresay the army will show you how unlucky we are."

Whatever _that_ was supposed to mean.

_.-*-._.-*-._.-*

Murtagh had learned, throughout years of experience, that tensed up was _not_ a good way to be around your enemies.

And he hardly counted Galbatorix and the arrogant, boorish, conceited, cowardly _fop_ that was 'Lord Varnier' among his friends.

Lord Varnier was the supreme commander of Galbatorix' army, and the King's candidate for the emerald egg.

Ugh. Murtagh couldn't imagine what sort of dragon would choose that... fop for it's rider. Yet somehow, the King believed Varnier would hatch the egg and save the Empire.

Murtagh was being forced to endure a state banquet in Varnier's honor. He was seated at Galbatorix right, as was his place as dragon rider. Varnier sat directly across from him and was now deeply engrossed in a conversation with some grand earl or other, simpering and fawning over anyone of higher status than himself.

"You do not enjoy yourself."

Murtagh swung his head towards the King. Galbatorix rarely spoke when it was not absolutely necessary, and was not at all fond of making observations about the comfort of others.

The young rider bowed his head respectfully. "No, my lord. I tire quickly of these formal events."

"As do I, my young disciple. But they must be held." Galbatorix gestured at the long table before them. "Look well and remember – these are the faces of those who will crawl on their knees for your approval, who will back stab you in a heartbeat. They are your only allies and worst enemies. But they can be used," the King rumbled. "You would do well to learn from them, and when you are adept enough, play them at their own game. And win."

Galbatorix nodded solemnly at Murtagh, and stood. The room fell silent immediately, all inane chatter ceasing at the sight of the imposing King. "Friends," he began. "I gather you here today in honor of the supreme commander of the army, the Lord Varnier."

Varnier stood, and was greeted with a smattering of polite applause. He sat as Galbatorix moved on.

"I now announce," Galbatorix continued, "our newest dragon rider. Again, the Lord Varnier."

Applause again, but this time louder and with a slightly confused tone.

Murtagh could empathize with the confused. Dragon rider? Varnier hadn't even seen the egg yet!

As Galbatorix sat down in his ornately carved chair, Murtagh caught his eye with a questioning gaze. Galbatorix shook his head almost imperceptibly. Murtagh felt the iron-fist touch of Galbatorix' mind against his own and opened his walls to let the King through.

_There is a traitor at this table,_ The King mind-spoke and then the iron-fist-touch dissipated from Murtagh's head. The young rider sealed his mind walls once more, wondering what that had to do with anything. Nice to know, certainly, but what –

And then he understood. _Someone at that table spied for the Varden._

And the King planned to use that to his advantage.

The traitor would undoubtedly carry news of the dragon rider candidate back to the Varden, who would undoubtedly try to assassinate Varnier. And the King would protect him, of course, and try to foil their efforts, but – maybe he wouldn't try too hard.

Murtagh's blood ran cold. Varnier was the decoy, much as the ornate chest had been in the egg room. The supreme commander was merely a pig being led to slaughter – perhaps he had displeased the King in some way – perhaps not – but one thing _was_ certain.

Varnier was never meant to ride the green dragon.

The real dragon rider candidate was still out there, somewhere, and the Varden wouldn't know of it until the egg hatched. The spy had the wrong person.

And that would spell disaster for the Varden, and his already slim chances of ever being free, and Kaela. The Varden _must _know that Varnier was the decoy, they must be told their spy had been found out.

In a way, it would be almost easier if Galbatorix just killed the spy. Now the Varden would receive exactly what information Galbatorix wanted them to have. They would play directly into his hands – the King would draw them in like puppets on a string.

Something had to be done.

But – who was the spy?

**_.-*-._.-*-._.-* **

Kaela ate her first hot meal in a week that evening, in the large dining room of the Open Cask. The inn menu wasn't very large, but each dish on it sounded wonderful to Kaela. She finally settled on a bowl of the house specialty soup, a rich, savory stew of beef strips, peas, corn, potato chunks, barley, and a mixture of spices. It was delicious and filling; when the bowl was empty Kaela wished she'd ordered a bigger portion. Against all instincts, she accepted a mug of ale. It was cold and wonderful at first, but left a sour aftertaste in Kaela's mouth and a groggy feeling in her head.

Did one mug of ale really do this to people? Kaela stumbled upstairs, stopped halfway to wait out a head rush, and finally made it to her room. She fumbled with the key and as soon as she walked through the door, collapsed dizzily upon the only bed.

Kaela was fast asleep and snoring within minutes; her pack slightly opened but still on her back.

Tonight was not a good night for something strange to happen. In fact, tonight was a _fantastic_ night for absolutely _nothing_ to happen.

But fate doesn't ever work that way, does it?

Of course not.

_.-*-._.-*-._.-*

_Crack_.

It's cage was breaking, breaking, breaking... Soon, there would be no more cage and It would be free! The Chosen was very, very near to It. All It must do was to crack the cage.

It tapped at the cage. It had a sharp tooth on It's nose, that was there just to help It crack the cage. And It knew the cage was cracking; It could feel it. The cage had always been around It, for It's entire existence. The cage was good, then. But no more. Now was time for the cage to leave, and It would make the cage go away.

It cracked and chipped and bit until It was very tired. But still It persisted; It did not give up. It never gave up.

And soon It was rewarded with a large _crack!_, and the cage broke apart.

A night and a day, no more, no less.

It hoped the Chosen was ready for It, because It was here for good. There would be no turning back.

_.-*-._.-*-._.-*

In a cheap hotel room, in a quiet, little-known town, one fine spring night, a miracle occurred.

An egg cracked, a tiny, reptilian head poked out from inside a leather pack, and a legend was born.

Thus begins the tale of the third rider of the New Age.

**AN: Thank you to those reviewers who pointed out mistakes; they have since been fixed, although I'm sure there are many more errors running wild all over the place.**

**Leave a review! Comments, complaints, constructive criticism, all welcome. **


	6. Enna

It was far too dark to be morning when Kaela woke up. She thought she heard light, nimble steps around the hotel room and tried to lift her head. She couldn't.

"Who are-" she croaked out.

Then she spoke no more, and thought no more, and felt no more, as she was plunged into darkness.

_.-*-._.-*-._.- *

It smelled an intruder. It would fight! It was ready.

A hand came down on the Chosen's forehead. How dare they! It prepared to strike the intruder.

It hissed, and the intruder cried out in delight. "Skulblaka, eka aí fricai. Eka mulabra ono un onr Shur'tugal né haina."

The intruder could not be lying, not in the Tongue, but... It still did not trust the intruder. But there was little It – so small and weak, and just out of the egg – could do, so It let the intruder, who meant no harm, carry It and the Chosen away from this place.

And It did not mind so much – the Inn smelled of unwashed two-legs-round-ears, and vomit, and _cooked_ two-legs-round-ears food. It would be glad to rid Itself of the stink.

_.-*-._.-*-._.- *

Kaela did not wake until much later in the day.

Her head pounded in her skull, and the sour aftertaste of the ale was still there, burning through her mouth. She reached for the pack, for the waterskins, and then realized – this was not the inn room.

This was the open plains.

Kaela stood up dizzily, holding her pounding head. She looked around and saw none. Odd.

The pack was at her feet, and Kaela delved eagerly into it. She pulled out the waterskin, took a long swig, and then moved the put it back. And she saw what was in the pack.

Shell fragments. Bright, golden shell fragments. Kaela spun wildly around, searching for the missing dragon. Murtagh was going to kill her. She groaned. Not only had the egg hatched before reaching the elves, it had hatched to her, and she'd lost the stupid dragon not a day later!

Which reminded her... what time was it? Kaela glanced up into the sky, tracking the suns position. Just after noon.

She'd lost half a day sleeping! And where was she?

Kaela spun in a circle again, this time slowly, scanning the horizon for a small town. She was rewarded with a cluster of buildings to the south. Bullridge.

She estimated Bullridge was about five leagues south of her, only visible at this distance because of the flat plains.

How had she gotten here? A quick glance around the makeshift camp told her all that she needed to know. She'd been kidnapped. A second pack and bedroll, and a small fire meant at least one other person. They must have found the dragon, too.

The dragon that was no where in sight.

Kaela explored the camp for a few minutes, poking through the other pack and examining the fire, which was several hours old and dwindling down to a slow flicker. She was examining a path of crushed grass for tracks when –

_Squeak_.

Kaela stopped dead and slowly pivoted to face the sound.

_Squeak._

She wasn't sure if she should laugh or scream. A baby dragon, the same golden hue as the egg had been, sat on the ground just a few feet away from her. The dragon's large eyes stared unceasingly at Kaela, tongue lolling comically from it's mouth.

Kaela settled for a strangled, croaking, half laugh.

"You're rather cute, actually," Kaela said in surprise. She glanced warily around. "C'mon, we need to get out of here." She grabbed her pack, stamped out the fire, and went to pick the baby dragon up. The dragon didn't seem to mind, hopping towards her.

She planned to take the dragon and leave, well before the kidnapper returned.

But fate, as it often does, had other plans.

The instant Kaela touched the dragon, a searing pain tore through her body. She cried out in terror and slumped to the ground, dragon in arms.

_.-*-._.-*-._.- *

A blurry figure with a long nose stood over Kaela. The blurry figure leaned over and pressed two fingers against Kaela's throat and counted a minute, and then reached over and grabbed her hand, flipping it palm side up.

He cried out something that sounded halfway between a battle-cry and a cheer of victory.

A blurry figure with a long nose, and black, long hair, and too-bright teeth... Dike!

"Dike?" Kaela said dizzily, struggling to lift her head from the ground. "What... what are.. you doing here?"

Dike did not answer; instead he laughed quietly and said, "So I see you've met your dragon, rider Castor. Although, I do suppose Castor isn't your true name, am I right?"

"Who are you? What are you doing?" Kaela said angrily, pushing him away weakly.

"i was rescuing you from Bullridge, _rider_." There was a slight mocking edge to his words. "I didn't think you'd manage to get out on your own, half-drunk and with a dragon hatchling. Admit it, I saved you. You were screwed, and I saved you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Kaela said sharply, struggling to her feet. Dike rushed to help her stand, but Kaela pushed him away.

Dike ignored her once again. "Oh, and lets not forget that you're a woman, masquerading around as a boy off to join the army. Nah, I'm not fool enough to believe that. And you're not just going to Gil'ead for fun. You probably aren't even going to Gil'ead." He leaned closer. "I think you're a runaway."

Kaela shrugged. He hadn't guessed the truth of it, at least.

Dike continued. "Perhaps you're a nobleman's daughter, escaping an arranged marriage." He shrugged. "But I don't really care. What I want to know is how you gained possession of a dragon egg."

"It was a gift," Kaela said shortly. "And _I _want to know why you've kidnapped me. Spill."

"I already said," Dike said in annoyance. "To get you out of Bullridge without raising suspicion, an you could hardly do it yourself because you were stoned."

"And you knocked me out!" Kaela said furiously. "How!"

"Not telling," Dike smirked. He continued with his own questioning. "So, who gave you this 'gift'?"

"If you don't answer my questions, I can't help you with yours." And Kaela refused to speak another word.

Eventually Dike gave up and sighed, saying "We should get going then."

"We!" Kaela said in disbelief. "As in, you and me? As in, you think I'm letting you come with me?"

"You need me," Dike said. "You have no clue where you're going, no idea what you're doing, know _nothing_ about dragons."

"And you do?"

Dike continued without pause. "And, might I add, you got drunk off a single mug of ale? You need me. Also, I'd bet my hand you can't use that dirk."

"Don't try me," Kaela growled. "I'm a fast learner, and you could probably do without a finger or two. Or a leg," she added after some consideration. "You'd learn to hop."

"Please, be serious. I need by fingers toes, ears, whatever, and you need me. Therefore, lets go questing!"

Kaela weighed her options. "You mean, you're running away with me."

Dike winced. "I wouldn't phrase it like that, but... yes."

"Like I'd elope with you, kidnapper," Kaela scoffed lightly. She continued in a more serious vein. "You'd do that? Leave your family?"

"I lied to you yesterday, Castor – and by the way, what is your real name? It gets confusing – as I was saying, I lied. I don't have family here. I'm on my own."

"Why didn't you leave before, then? You're not the joking little town boy you pretend to be."

"It's complicated. Ask me in a few weeks. And tell me what your female name is before I throw a fit."

"Well, we wouldn't want that, would we?" Kaela grinned suddenly. "I'm Enna." She felt no regret lying to him a second time. Perhaps, when the truth came out, this would pose a problem, but for now... Kaela had no trust in the other boy.

Dike stared, considering, at her for a second, and then said "Let's go... Enna."

Kaela could have sworn she felt a touch on her mind. Not Murtagh's subtle, slender touch, but a dancing, creeping feel. A spider, searching through her memories, looking and discarding, digging, digging, digging... Just as quickly as it came, it was gone. Kaela shuddered to rid herself of the feeling.

The young woman picked up the dragon with one arm. It refused to fold it's wings, making Dike laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

They walked quickly for several hours, Kaela straining to keep up with Dike's longer stride and quick gazelle steps. They didn't stop until hours past noon, when the sun was at a 4:00 angle in the west.

Dike dumped his pack on the ground, ignoring Kaela as she set Sunwing in the long grass and collapsed next to him, sitting cross-legged and stroking his scales wearily. "We'll eat a quick meal now and then walk for another seven or eight hours."

Kaela froze with a chunk of dried meat halfway to her mouth. "It'll be dark then!" she protested.

"And?" Dike asked without turning around. "You've been complaining all day about the heat. Dark's when it cools off. We'll make better time."

"If you don't fall into the river and drown," Kaela said scornfully. "How do you suppose you'll see?"

"With my ears," Dike spared a glance at Kaela. "I don't suppose you can hear the river, can you? It's only rapids over a large number of rocks."

The river was very loud.

Kaela stuffed the chunk of meat into her mouth and spoke around it. "No."

"Yes."

"No. You can go on, Sir High and Mighty, but the dragon and I _stay here._ I am going to _sleep_ when it's dark, like normal people do."

"You aren't a normal person," he reminded her. "You're a dragon rider."

"Dragon riders don't sleep?"

"Occasionally, when time permits."

"Be my guest. Go on alone."

"It isn't safe for me to leave you."

"I was doing just fine before I met you, wasn't I?"

"That was before, when you were a runaway. You are no longer safe, for as long as you are in the empire," Dike said impassively.

Kaela got to her feet. "How do I know I can trust you? You're name isn't Dike, you don't come from Bullridge, first you have a family, now you don't, you know about dragon riders, and you drop everything to come with me to Gil'ead? All I know about you is lies. I don't trust you."

"I need you to trust me."

"And yet... I don't. You expect to walk in, kidnap me, admit to have lied about everything, and still want me to trust you!"

"I didn't admit to lying!"

"You just did!"

"It doesn't matter; we have to travel quickly. We will go on after dark."

Kaela pointed an angry finger at Dike. "_You _will go on if _you _want to. _I _will stay here, so _I _can sleep."

Dike looked at her and then picked up his bag. "You're going to regret this."

Kaela shrugged moodily. She probably would later, but now...

_Don't make enemies when you can make friends,_ a little voice whispered in her ear.

Kaela sighed. She might have apologized, she might have not, but when she looked at where Dike had been, he was there no longer.

Good riddance.

But she had a nagging feeling that one day she would regret this.

_.-*-._.-*-._.- *

Kaela slept well that night, which only served to convince her further that she was right not to go with Dike.

Before she began walking once more, Kaela tentatively pushed out her mind towards the dragon. To her surprise, the animal pushed back, and then let her into it's head.

She projected an image as best she could, of the dragon – it really needed a name, she couldn't call it 'the dragon' forever – eating a chunk of meat.

The dragon seemed to like this idea, so Kaela tore off a dozen small bits from the dried meat and fed them one by one to the dragon.

Kaela wasn't sure if the dragon had teeth yet. It didn't seem like it was using them, because it would pick up each morsel in it's oversized jaws, throw it's head back, and swallow the dried jerky whole. Kaela watched in fascination, until the last jerky piece had been snapped up.

She picked the dragon up, threw the pack over her shoulder, and strode off through the sea of grass.

Kaela had originally been walking through the grass because it hid her from any watching eyes. But out in the open plains, that fear seemed ridiculous. An hour's trek after starting, Kaela stumbled across a road going north and west. Roads would let her go twice as fast... but how could she hide the dragon?

Kaela looked speculatively at the baby dragon. Of course it would soon grow, but for now it was roughly the size the egg had been. She then looked at the pack.

Fifteen minutes later, two mid-sized air-holes had been cut into the pack with the long dirk, and the dragon was sitting comfortably inside.

At least, the dragon looked comfortable. It was seething inside; the pack was small, and smelled. Smelled lots. But It followed the Chosen, until It was big and wise enough for the Chosen and It to follow and lead each other.

So It endured.

But It endured noisily, with a pretty non-stop squeaking.

Kaela found that the road would take her all the way to Gil'ead. Squeak. Signposts at five-league intervals gave the distances to Gil'ead. Squeak.

Just past the 20 league sign, the squeaking slowed and finally came to a halt. Kaela checked the pack and was thrilled to notice the dragon had fallen asleep. Just then, she turned a sharp corner in the road and heard hoof beats in the near distance.

A troop of ten soldiers on horseback was rapidly approaching from the north. Kaela cursed, but the troop was barely a mile away. There was no time to hide.

She walked naturally, trying to loosen up. Tension was a dead giveaway. She patted the dirk casually, checking to see where it was on her hip. She hoped she wouldn't need it.

It was a matter of minutes before they met.

The first horse-back rider slowed and turned to a halt just before Kaela, blocking the road. The other nine followed his example. A rider from the middle of the pack cantered out towards the front. He was obviously in charge, by the richness of his clothes and the sapphire jewel in his sword hilt.

"What's your name, boy?" he barked in a clipped accent.

For an instant, Kaela forgot she was dressed as a man and couldn't recall her male name. "Oh – Castor, sir."

"Castor. How old are you?"

"Sixteen, sir."

The soldier looked briefly at his troop. "What's in that pack, boy?"

"Just supplies. A bedroll, some food." Damn. This was not going the way Kaela wanted it to. They couldn't open the pack – the dragon was still in there, asleep.

"I reckon we could use some supplies. Open the pack up, boy."

"I don't have enough to give you some and still get me to Gil'ead," Kaela said bravely, staring up at the lead soldier.

"Do I look like I care? Open it up."

The leader's horse stalked forward, and Kaela slowly backed up. She fingered the dirk one last time before drawing it quickly, leaping forward, and slashing the horse's knees.

"What the – " The horse reared with a hideous screech and toppled over, crushing the rider instantly. The other soldiers quickly drew their weapons, advancing on her with steel swords flashing.

Kaela looked from one to another of the nine soldiers. They'd formed a semi-circle around her. None had bows, but running wasn't an option – not when they had horses, and she was on foot.

Shed didn't look down, but could tell instantly that her own dirk was barely half the size of the large, army-issued swords.

_This might be the end, _Kaela knew. She shrugged off the pack without taking her eyes off the soldiers. _I don't have much of a chance, anyway. And when you're outnumbered... offense is the best defense._

Without warning, Kaela charged at the soldier at the end of the semi-circle line, slashing the horse's side. The beast whined and kicked wildly, striking Kaela's shoulder in a glancing blow. The soldier toppled from the horse. Before he could stand, Kaela stabbed through his neck with the dirk.

The remaining eight soldiers rushed in, mobbing her with a tangle of horses, swords, sweat, and blood. Kaela was stabbing wildly now. She lost her head in the battle heat, seeing only a blur of motion and hearing nothing but blood pounding in her head.

She didn't have a chance, and knew it. _I'm going to die._

As this realization sunk in, the battle lust dissipated and the blur focused into a crystal clear picture. It was dreamlike – her right hand, holding the dirk, stabbing through the links in a soldiers chain mail jerkin. His cry of pain and surprise, mouth wide open, head thrown forward. A sword rushing down from overhead, her hands thrown up to block it. The sun glinting on the blade as it bounced off the dirk, and slid down, cleaving a bloody inch of flesh from her left thumb in a minor wound.

Kaela was too absorbed in the battle to hear the war-cry from behind the soldiers, but they did, and turned to see what it was.

It was Death. Death came rushing in on lightning feet, cutting down soldier after soldier with a quick hand and long arming sword

Death, who looked oddly like Dike – whirled his sword in an overhead arc, cleaving through the second-to-last soldier. He then turned to slay the remaining man, but wasn't quick enough; a bloody dirk seemed to grow through the unlucky soldiers abdomen, and the dead man fell to the ground.

"Not bad," Death said appreciatively. "How many'd you get?"

"Three, and then this one," Kaela said. "That left what, six for you, Dike?"

For Death was Dike, returned.

"Sounds about right," Dike said.

"So," Kaela said, staggering a step forward. "Not that I'm complaining or anything, but why are you here?"

Dike glared at the pile of corpses by his feet. "Good thing I was here, too." He shielded his eyes from the sun with one hand, and then continued. "When I left last night, I figured I'd scout ahead for a night and a day, while you cooled off, and then come back. So that's what I did, except I wasn't traveling on the road, because, unlike certain people, I guessed it was a bad idea. So I missed these here beauties.

"And then I headed back to where I thought you were, and saw the soldiers. They weren't hard to find – they kicked up a dust cloud visible for a mile around, and about that much noise. By the way, how did _you _miss them? You could have just gotten off the road a hundred meters, the grass would've hidden you."

"Bad luck," Kaela said sourly. Bad luck and squeaking dragons.

Dike shrugged and went on. "Anyway, I trailed the soldiers back. I was running quickly, but I didn't manage to catch up. But I have an excuse – they were on horseback, I wasn't.

"And then they stopped, and I couldn't see why they stopped, I was maybe, a mile away. So I sped up. And then one of the horses just fell, and someone yelled. I have good ears, so I could hear it."

"That hair doesn't muffle it, then?" Kaela said.

Dike threw a withering glare at her. "No. So I ran faster, and you were getting beaten up by six soldiers. So I yelled and then started fighting."

"Why'd you yell? You could have bumped off two or three before they noticed you."

"I _wanted_ them to notice me. I don't know if you realized, but they were about to kill you."

"Eh. We should head out, now." Kaela wobbled unsteadily when she walked.

"Yes, but first, get your pack. And your dragon."

"Ah." Kaela found the pack on the side of the road and opened it. "I don't believe it. He's still asleep!"

"You stuffed your dragon _inside your pack?" _Dike was scandalized.

Kaela waved her hand at him dismissively. "It worked, don't complain."

Dike just then noticed the bloody gash just below Kaela's thumb. "We need to get that healed before infection sets in."

Kaela looked down at her hand. "Oh – oh. Yeah. It doesn't hurt, though."

Dike laughed. "That's the battle rush talking, there. Give it a few minutes – _then _it'll hurt. A lot. Let me take a look at it – you might need bandages."

Kaela held her and out to him and he grabbed it, poking at the bloody hole. "Those blaggards!" he swore. "It's deeper than I thought. I'm sorry Kaela, but bandages won't help at this point." He swore colorfully once more. "I'm going to heal it."

Kaela yanked her hand away. "How?" she asked suspiciously.

"Just give me your hand." Dike grabbed her bloody fingers and muttered a quiet few words.

` What happened next Kaela did not know. She held back a scream, biting her lips so hard they bled. Her hand _burned!_ For a wild moment she thought it really was on fire.

And then it stopped, as suddenly as it started. Kaela gawped at her hand. There was no trace of the bloody cut just below her thumb. Skin had somehow grown over it, a little pink, but otherwise completely healed.

Kaela swung to face Dike and suddenly threw a fist at his face, which he ducked easily.

"What was that for?" he protested.

"_What _did you do to me?"

_.-*-._.-*-._.-*

**AN: Who **_**is**_** Dike? What sort of mood swing problem does he have? Take a guess! Outrageously incorrect theories are acceptable, but be warned; they will be laughed at and possibly mocked next chapter.**

**There is a POLL on my profile; please go vote. **

**One last thing: I tried to use a random generator for when Dike cusses. The results, although I sadly could not use them, were... interesting. Check it out.**

**Oh, spork me with a blackened turkey baster!  
Sacred bastard child of a wacky anaconda-pleasing wombat!  
Unholy son of a giant marsupial-raping maggot!  
Unholy son of a scallywag-minded goblin!  
Well, fork me with a bloody turkey baster! **

**Leave a review! Comments, complaints, constructive criticism, all welcome. **


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